


what dreams may come

by orphan_account



Series: legend!verse [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 12:04:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2191134
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas says it like a real human. A real human, which is a thing that he isn't. Easy to forget that, sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what dreams may come

"Take you back," Dean repeats. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"Upstairs," Cas says. He says it like a real human. A real human, which is a thing that he isn't. Easy to forget that, sometimes.

"Oh." Dean jiggles his leg a little under the table. He hates the habit, but he's never been too great at self-control. "Well. Are you going with those guys, or not?" He tells himself he doesn't care. Cas is probably better off upstairs, anyway. He'll be happier. It's a miracle his siblings didn't realize their giant mistake in kicking him out before now. It's a miracle a living thing has put up with him for this long.

He doesn't care. If he says it enough, it'll be true. Fake it till you make it, or whatever. Which works, by the way. It's some kind of weird psychology shit. Dean's not really sure. But Sam took a seminar, so.

Cas looks at him. "I don't know," he says, evenly. "They're giving me a second chance. My kind is not meant to settle with humanity."

"What?" Dean says, blankly. "That's not true. Minor gods settle down here all the damn time. You could stay, too. There's plenty of 'em." There's a long, long silence. Cas smiles, a little sadly, and Dean thinks, Jesus. Because how did he miss this one. "Cas," he whispers. He's not sure why. It's not like anyone else is going to hear them. They're home. The whole world is loud, and their whispers are lost in the flood. "You're. You're not a minor god, are you?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Christ." All this time. All this time, Dean's been rooming with a major. "What are you?" He doesn't know. He doesn't know anything, and it scares him, it terrifies him. The smell of electricity is suddenly so much stronger, and he feels it prickling on the surface of his skin.

Cas inhales. Dean remembers that gods don't need oxygen, but, Jesus, it's so humanhe almost believes it. "Secondary."

"Holy  _shit,_ " Dean breathes.

"Secondary is a misnomer, actually," Cas tells him, quickly, because Cas is a sucker for semantics. "We aren't the second generation of gods, we're the grandchildren of the primeval. But human texts have erased most of the primeval from history. So our race has come to be referred to as the Secondary. I find that so interesting."

Dean nods. "Sure," he says. He's wondering what a Secondary would have to do to get their ass kicked out of upstairs. He doesn't think he want to know.

It's startling how little Dean has to think about it, when he thinks about it. Things line up. He's never physically sensed a presence as strong as Cas's, especially not on a first meeting. Seven o'clock on a Friday. He remembers that. He hasn't thought about it in a long time. And Cas retaining his powers for an extended period spent with humans, that's, well, that's pretty rare. Dean doesn't really remember the specifics– he took an intro class about it, once– but there's some weird scientific phenomenon that dwindles godly energy on Earth, when they're away from the birthplace of their power. It led to the discovery that the magic humans have and the magic gods have stem from two different sources.

Dean thinks,  _he could've killed me._ Because Secondaries aren't known for their compassion. Dean thinks,  _but he didn't._

He says, "You're not like any Secondary I've ever heard of."

Instantly he sees it wasn't the right thing to say. Cas's face screws up, and Dean thinks, shit, fuck, he's going to cry. The fish isn't even dead, and Cas is going to cry. Dean fucked up again. "I know," Castiel says, and tries for a self-deprecating smile that hurts worse than the crying would've. "I've often been referred to as a disappointment."

"That's not what I meant," Dean tells him, immediately. "At  _all._ " His voice is shaking. "I meant to– that's a good thing, Cas, a damn good thing, you know what we think of Secondaries down here. And you're nothing like them."

And then a tear spills over, but it's not a tear. It's silvery-blue, liquid, shining.

There's a silence. "Cas." Dean's voice is higher than usual. "What's–"

"Ichor," Cas says, calmly, how is he calm right now? He touches two fingers to his cheek. "I'm... I think I might be leaking grace."

It takes Dean a second to remember that the shorthand for godly energy is  _grace_. "Cas?" he says again, voice rising. "Jesus Christ, Cas, are you–"

"Fine," he says, except clearly he's not. "This sometimes happens, during prolonged stays with– it's a dangerous mix of two kinds of power, it, ah–" Cas stops. "It's not deadly," he says, softly, like he's positive, and that reassures Dean, just a little.

Then he crumples to the ground.

Dean yells out something, he's not sure what, he might be swearing or maybe he's just praying. He runs over and puts two fingers to Cas's neck. There's no pulse, of course there's no pulse. Gods don't have a pulse. Cas's eyes are closed and the fluid– ichor, he called it– continues to leak from his eyes. "Come on," he begs, to the still air. He's never begged for anything before. He's not ashamed like he thought he would be. "If you assholes don't give me anything else for the rest of my life, at least give me this."

Healing spells, protective spells. He's got crystals in the top left cabinet, and he needs to be faster, but, for Christ's sake, he's never seen anything like this. He's not a healer. God, if only Sam were here. He would know the right thing to do. Dean pools a little of his magic into the palm of his hand, concentrates, knows if he does this it's probably going to take years off his life. It might not even work, but if no Secondaries show up– Tertiaries, even, he'd take a minor god over nothing right now– he's going to have to do  _something._

"It won't work," says a voice behind him, and Dean whips his head around so fast it hurts. His concentration lulls, and the magic melts back under his skin.

"Who the hell are you?" Dean says. "And how did you–"

"Anael," the woman says, but of course she's not a woman. Just wearing one. "And I can help him."

"What are you?" Dean tries to say, but suddenly everything is gold light and he's drowning and burning and living all at once.

—

He wakes up in a white room. Like a hospital. He's been to the hospital once before. He was nine, he'd hit his head falling out of a tree. They'd kept him overnight, gave him some mild healing spells. Just a slight concussion.

He tastes metal. He tries to say,  _Cas,_ but his mouth doesn't move.

His eyes close again.  _Cas,_ he thinks, and he doesn't dream.

—

"Why did you take that risk, Anna?" is the first thing he hears.

He doesn't open his eyes. Maybe he's dead. That was Cas's voice _,_ and if this is any decent kind of heaven then Cas is here.

"He prayed," someone says, sadly, and Dean's eyes flicker open.

He's in the white room, again, and Cas is standing, facing the woman. The goddess. Anael.

"Cas," Dean says. His mouth works again, that's cool. Very cool.

Both Secondaries look over at him, and Cas's face scrunches up again. It's cute. Dean wants to tell him that, but he can't, so he doesn't. "You're awake," Cas breathes.  _Breathes._ That's a funny word. Gods can't breathe. Don't breathe.

"The alive kind of awake?" Dean asks. He tries to sit up a little, except there's a flaring pain, everywhere. He feels like he got microwaved and then sprayed with a firehose.  _Jesus._ "Ow. Okay. Alive it is." That's poetic, he thinks. You know when you're alive because alive always hurts worse.

Cas comes over and sits tentatively on the edge of Dean's bed. It feels personal, private, and Dean selfishly wishes Anael weren't here right now. But he's pretty sure she's the one who saved Cas's life, so he probably owes her. "I didn't know if you were going to make it," Cas tells him. "Very few humans have survived being in the presence of a god's true form."

"What are you talking about?"

"It was my fault," Anael says, quickly. She's got nice eyes. Sad eyes. "You prayed for a solution, and that– was the only one I could provide."

Dean thinks about that, and then it clicks. He glares at Cas. "You son of a bitch," he says. "You said it wasn't deadly."

Cas looks away, and his mouth twitches. "I didn't want you to worry," he tries, "and it's not usually so fast-acting, I–"

"You didn't want me to  _w_ _orry?_ " Dean asks, incredulously. "Are you kidding me, man? You thought I wasn't going to  _worry_ when you started bleeding out your goddamn grace? You are the dumbest Secondary I've ever– I mean, Jesus, Cas. Come  _on._ "

"Sorry," Cas whispers, like it's some kind of secret.

Dean leans back into his pillows and closes his eyes. "Yeah, whatever," he says. He breathes in that scent, that hospital air. Breathes it in and hates it, too. It smells like dead magic and sanitized metal. "Can we go home now?"

Cas looks to Anael, who shrugs. "I can give him the pass," she says. "If he's okay with it."

"What's the pass?" Dean asks.

"Pain reliever," Cas tells him. "Permanent pain reliever, but gives humans and Tertiaries the mild side effect of unnatural happiness. It usually wears off within a few hours."

Dean shrugs. "Go for it, I guess."

Anael walks over, waves a hand over Dean's chest. A warm, buttery feeling starts spreading through him. Like, Dean doesn't know, home-cooked meals, or some shit. It's kinda nice and Dean wants to smile about it. "Whoa, Cas," he says. _  
_

Cas says something, but Dean's not really listening. He touches Cas's hair instead, because it looks soft, and it _is._ So soft. "Hey," he says, and he feels  _great_ about this, about everything, "let's go home."

—

Dean wakes up several hours later on his couch, with a massive goddamn headache. Cas is curled up at his feet, watching an Animal Planet program about tigers.

"What the hell," Dean says, sitting up. Ow, God. "How come you didn't tell me about the killer migraine part of this?"

Cas shrugs. "You were in such a good mood," he says, and doesn't take his eyes off the screen. "I didn't want to ruin it."

Dean groans and puts a pillow over his face. "I hate you," he says, and it's muffled and Cas most likely can't understand him.  _I love you,_ he thinks, miserably, and that one's probably pretty clear.


End file.
